


Candle in the Window

by Moretta



Category: Rock of Ages - D'Arienzo
Genre: Dennis dies, Drew is a Good Friend, F/M, M/M, The Bourbon Room, burger king crowns and waitress-by-numbers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28101435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moretta/pseuds/Moretta
Summary: When the hospital calls to tell him that Mr Dupree has died peacefully in his sleep and they offer their deepest condolences, Lonny thanks the nurse for calling him, hangs up the phone, downs three  quarters of a bottle of Jack and watches the rest drip down a wall of the Bourbon Room, where it has smashed into a thousand tiny pieces.orLonny grieves, but it will all be ok in the end. He has people who love him.
Relationships: Drew Boley/Sherrie Christian, Lonny Barnett/Dennis Dupree





	Candle in the Window

When the hospital calls to tell him that Mr Dupree has died peacefully in his sleep and they offer their deepest condolences, Lonny thanks the nurse for calling him, hangs up the phone, downs three quarters of a bottle of Jack and watches the rest drip down a wall of the Bourbon Room, where it has smashed into a thousand tiny pieces.

Had he thrown that?  
  
Shit.  
  
Waitresses one through three watch him carefully as he runs both hands through his hair, grabs a broom and a garbage bag and goes to clean up without explaining himself.  
  
The knees of his jeans catch on the broken bits of glass, but he doesn’t feel it. He just sweeps up the shards, shakes them into the bag and closes it.  
  
The door opens and shuts, but it’s not opening time yet, so at least it’s not a customer.  
  
He wipes down the wall, carefully ignoring everything else, and wonders about the last time anyone had cleaned the wall at all. He tells himself he’ll do it soon, wipe down all the walls. Everything should probably be cleaner.  
  
He’s sitting at one of the tables, head in his hands, elbows on knees, when waitress number one puts her hand on his shoulder.  
  
“I told everyone to come in. You shouldn’t work tonight. I’ll lock up.”  
  
He tries to put on his usual cocky smile, but it droops, “I’m fine.”  
  
She looks at him with sad eyes, “No, you’re not.”  
  
“No,” he says, too late, staring at the floor again, “I’m not.”  
  
“Go home,” she squeezes his shoulder, “get some sleep. Have some real food, yeah?”  
  
So he stands up, grabs his jacket and goes.  
  
He walks up and down the Strip until it gets dark, unwilling to go back to his apartment and entirely unable to bring himself to go back into the Bourbon Room and climb into the living space above the club.  
  
He ends up in Burger King, where Katie-who-he-used-to-work-with looks him over once before handing him a full meal without a word, on her, even though he knows she has two small kids to feed and a deadbeat husband who left her without any money. She still works there only because they let her leave to go and pick up her kids from school between shifts.  
  
He damn near breaks down right there amid all the yellow and red plastic, because the one good thing about working for Burger King was that they didn’t care how often Dennis came in or how long he stayed as long as he bought something, and Katie never said anything, but she would smile when he walked in, every time, and make sure he had a fresh Coke waiting whenever he sauntered up to the counter.  
  
He sits in a booth, rattling the ice in his paper cup once he’s eaten everything, rattling it on purpose, because if he stops moving then he’ll start shaking like he’s going through withdrawal and that’s never a good sign.  
  
Dennis was the one who had pulled him out of his stupid, drug-fuelled funk when his “band” had broken up. He had put his hands on Lonny’s shoulders and told him that drugs were only glamorous in theory, that weed was more than good, but anything stronger was only going to kill him and that if he didn’t clean up his act, he was going to fire him. No drugs at work, man, he needed him to be sober enough to be able to deal whatever happened on the floor.  
  
So Lonny had cleaned up his act, no more speed, no more acid, and when that one sober decision made sure the band never reformed, he’d decided that, ok, maybe he was never going to be the next Steve Gadd, but hell, he was going to be a Sound God in the Temple of Rock that was the Bourbon and that was more than ok.  
  
When Katie offers to drive him somewhere at the end of her shift, he shakes his head, tells her he just needs to sort some shit out upstairs.  
  
She gives him this half-smile, half-frown face which means she doesn’t know what to do with that information and that she’ll worry. He tells her he’ll come by later on in the week. She doesn’t look like she believes him, but she lets him go without hugging him.  
  
He thinks a hug might be too much right now.  
  
He goes home.  
  
Home is a loose term, really, because he’s been paying rent for the place, sure, but the surfaces are covered in a thin layer of dust and none of the clothes he likes are there. The inside of the fridge is ok, there’s just the one container that looks like it’s ready to sprout legs and throw itself into the trash, but there’s a six-pack of beer, so he opens one, sits on the lumpy old couch that came with the place, turns the TV on and pretends to be ok.  
  
He’s honestly not sure what day it is when the knocking on the door starts, but he’s been out of beer for a while now. He started in on the mess of cheap alcohol that he’d stashed away for emergencies, thinking that this definitely qualified.  
  
He opens the door with a bottle in one hand, wearing the same trousers as he had the day he found out and no shirt. He’d spilled beer on it that first night and hadn’t seen the point of wearing a new one, because all his good shirts were over at Dennis’, and he couldn’t go back into Dennis’ flat.  
  
It’s Drew.  
  
Drew Boley, who is no longer trying too hard to be Wolfgang von Colt, who should be at home with Sherrie, his wife now, his wife, Jesus, in Glendale, dressed in a terrible suit that’s only just too big for him. But the kid is clearly making an effort.  
  
He and Dennis had gone to their wedding. It was a beautiful service. Yes, he’d cried. Weddings always make him teary. Dennis had given him a handkerchief with a fringe and he had laughed through his tears.  
  
Sherrie had looked so elegant, resplendent, Drew had worn a tux that was rented and neat, but it was the smile on his face that had made Lonny’s breath catch in his throat as Dennis sobbed into his shoulder. They looked so in love and Lonny had been there in the background for all the shit that they had gone through and it was just so beautiful.  
  
Sherrie’s family hadn’t come up for it, but Justice Charlier had paid for it, calling it “Mama’s gift to her star-crossed babies”.  
  
Drew had sung a couple of his songs at the reception, grinning at his biggest fan the whole time (although he’d had to endure some heckling from Lonny, who wanted some of his older stuff, “Your original originals, man, why aren’t you making boobies hard?” – yeah, Drew’s mom had loved him), Dennis had convinced Steel Jizz to play for cheap, there had been booze and girls and laughing and friends and he’d had such a good time. Drew and Sherrie had left for their honeymoon humming, “this must be just like living in paradise…” and Dennis had had it stuck in his head for days.  
  
Good times.  
  
Lonny gapes at the kid, “What the hell are you doing here?”  
  
Drew pushes him backwards, walks in after him and kicks the door shut behind himself.  
  
“The girls called me. They’re worried. You haven’t been in for four days.”  
  
Well, that answered that question.  
  
“Is the Bourbon ok?”  
  
“Yeah, they’ve been taking care of it.”  
  
“Good,” he says, crashing down onto the couch again, careful not to spill the bottle, “That’s good.”   
  
“The hospital called the club again.”  
  
All of his muscles tense at once and he doesn’t want to know, he doesn’t want to deal with it, won’t be able to take it.  
  
“So the girls called me. You owe me, but I dealt with it.”  
  
Drew and Sherrie are both working now, but they’ve got a mortgage and he knows Drew wants more children one day.  
  
He’s a responsible kid, really.  
  
Maybe not a kid anymore.  
  
“Yeah. Write it down, I’ll pay you back. Thanks, Drew.”  
  
It’s stilted, incredulous, “Lonny, man, of course.”  
  
Lonny looks up, and Drew is going through the stuff in his cupboard and fridge, throwing shit away and cleaning.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
“Making sure you don’t die of dysentery or alcohol poisoning. When was the last time you ate?”  
  
He’s not sure. He scratches at a hole in the denim at his knees.  
  
“M’not hungry.”

Drew frowns at him, “Sherrie made a casserole. I’ve put it in your fridge. Come on, you’re having a shower, we’re grabbing some food, then we’re going to the Bourbon.”  
  
Lonny shakes his head, brings the bottle up to his mouth, “No.”  
  
Drew pulls the bottle back down, away, “Yes. After that we’re going to Dennis’ lawyer, doing the stuff with the will, and then you can come back and drink some more, but only when we’ve done all the rest.”  
  
He says _“drink”_ like Dennis used to say _“shoot up”_ , like something disgusting and wrong, like it’s something he’s thrown himself into without thinking.  
  
That’s probably right. Lonny left his sense of self-preservation in the back of his daddy’s car, way back in the 70s.  
  
He stands up slowly. Drew is looking at him warily, holding the bottle tightly, as if Lonny were thinking about lunging at him to take it back.  
  
He goes to have a shower. When he comes out, his “nice” clothes are out on the bed.  
  
“I’m not wearing a tie,” he says, putting on the rest, “You can’t make me.”  
  
“Fine,” Drew shrugs, “Let’s go.”  
  
They get hot dogs from the cart on the corner. When they rock up to the Bourbon, Lonny can’t decide whether the cartwheels his stomach is doing are because of the hot dog that was probably made of rat meat or because he hasn’t had real food in four days.  
  
The Bourbon’s sign is lit up like a welcome home and the waitresses and bar staff are cleaning and chatting, setting up like it’s any other night.  
  
The picture of Lonny and Dennis has been cleaned, the frame is shining, and the walls are lighter than Lonny has ever seen them. He hugs waitress number one tight enough that she hugs back.  
  
He’s not going to cry, he’s not.  
  
They try to nudge him towards the back, but he can't, he just. He can’t go upstairs.  
  
Drew claps him on the shoulder and doesn’t say anything, just goes up by himself, high-fiving people on the way, getting them up to speed about his new life away from the city of angels.  
  
Waitress number one gives him back the key, says, “Don’t you dare ever leave us again, you hear me?” and he nods, closing his fingers around the key to what is really home. Now that he’s back it hurts, but not as much as sitting in his empty apartment had.  
  
He and Drew go to the lawyer, who turns out to be an old friend of Dennis’, they navigate through the waste of air that is legal jargon, and find out the Bourbon is now Lonny’s.  
  
He cries.  
  
It’s no big deal, real men cry.  
  
Fuck, he wishes Dennis were here.  
  
Drew stays the night, sleeps on the couch that probably reeks of sweat and stale beer, rumpling his work suit, but he stays, makes sure Lonny is up the next morning and has some breakfast before he hugs him goodbye, makes him promise to call, and goes back to Glendale and Sherrie.  
  
Lonny squares his shoulders, goes to his landlord and tells him he’s leaving. The landlord nods like he knew it was coming, tells him to be out of the property by the end of the month and that he’ll give him references if he needs them.  
  
“You were a good tenant. Quiet. You’ve been gone a lot for a long time. I wondered when you were gonna settle down, there’s obviously someone there.”  
  
He smiles, though he doesn’t know how convincing it is, doesn’t correct the assumption that the person is still there.  
  
He waits until the last possible minute, panicking over his decision, but a phone call to Sherrie tells him he’s doing the right thing.  
  
He cleans more thoroughly than he ever has before, if only to get rid of his nervous energy.  
  
He packs up everything that’s still in the apartment (a surprisingly small amount – had he really, like, moved in with Dennis?) and takes it all to the Bourbon, stashes it in the office until after the night is through and even the barstaff have gone home.  
  
Waitress number two winks at him on her way out, waves.  
  
He locks up behind her.  
  
The office is almost unnaturally tidy. Dennis liked a bit of healthy mess, but the office was a place of work and business, so it was always clean, the desk was always tidy and the paperwork was always done on time.  
  
He sleeps on the couch in the office for the first three days. On day four, they have the funeral.  
  
He’s paid Drew back now, so he’s not expecting it when the door to the office swings open and the happy couple come in.  
  
Sherrie hugs him and he lets her take comfort in it. Nobody knew Dennis like he did, but they did know him. They’re all hurting too.  
  
The funeral is bigger than Lonny expected. It’s full of people, bands that got their start at the Bourbon, people like Sherrie and Drew who worked there and left with different dreams, old friends and colleagues and Dennis’ old bandmates. Katie’s at the back, holding a paper Burger King crown, which she gives to him to throw onto the casket when they lower it. He laughs until he cries.  
  
People tell stories about Dennis, some that he knew, some he didn’t. Lonny loosens his tie and touches the t-shirt he has on under his dress shirt. Styx. Dennis would approve.  
  
Justice Charlier is there, dressed like an empress all in black, her girls behind her.  
  
She hugs him too.  
  
People keep doing that, like it’ll help, but he didn’t think she would. He must really look like shit.  
  
“Sweetie,” she says, “I know it hurts. You’ve just to remember he loves you.” She’s so sure of herself, so sure of that statement – he freezes.  
  
She raises her eyebrow at him.  
  
“Boy, I worked next door to that man for seventeen years and was friends with him for most of them, you’d better believe nobody knows him like I do.”  
  
He stares. So, it turns out Dennis was actually good friends with the fierce Ms Charlier. Who knew, right?  
  
“Come round next week, sugar, we’ll get you a cocktail.”  
  
“Not champagne?” he asks, raising both eyebrows towards her girls, trying to find his cocky self again somewhere in the mess of his brain.  
  
“That’s not what you really want,” she says, raising one shoulder, “But come on by.”  
  
He promises.  
  
Everyone follows him back to the Bourbon, drinking more than their fair share and leaving casseroles and flowers on the side. Is that a thing, the casseroles? Correct procedure? Why did nobody tell him that was a thing?  
  
When the last person is gone, he walks through the office to the other door, marches up the stairs, unlocks the door to the apartment and collapses on Dennis’ bed, ignoring everything else.  
  
He has his first full night of sleep since the doctors told him that Dennis wasn’t going to be coming home.  
  
When he wakes up, surrounded by the faint smell of weed and cologne, he decides he’s an idiot and Dennis hated idiots and he’s going to pull himself together.  
  
He goes through the bills for the Bourbon, reacquaints himself with the filing system, pays what needs to be paid.  
  
He visits the Venus Club, where Ambrosia takes him straight through to Ms Charlier. “Call me Mama, Lonny. All the girls do.”  
  
He squints at her, “I don’t want a job.”  
  
She laughs at him and hands him a drink that glows under the lights, “No, sugar, you don’t. But you’ll want to learn how to run a place on the Strip. I’ve also got a proposition for you.”  
  
The drink tastes like cranberry and rum and it’s actually just what he needed.

“I know I’m sexy,” he says, “But I’m still not dancing.”  
  
“Honey,” her tone brooks no argument, “I wouldn’t do that to a paying customer. Now, this is my proposition.”  
  
She wants a place to send her girls when they decide that they don’t want to dance any more. Somewhere safe where they’ll have a guaranteed job to get them back onto their feet while they figure out what they’re doing.  
  
He thinks about Sherrie, about Destiny and Sapphire and Katie and waitress number one, and tells her that even if they can’t really afford it, he’ll do it.  
  
Someone has to look out for the future stars before they make it big, right?  
  
Dennis had looked out for him.  
  
Mama smiles at him, soft and tender and so unlike her usual business face that he can’t stop staring at the difference it makes. She looks younger.  
  
One of the girls rushes past, grinning widely, when a man with flowers comes to the door. Mama smiles again, indulgent.  
  
“Love. It’s a beautiful thing.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
They hammer out something like a deal – he’ll help out her girls and she’ll help out his staff. Sunset Strippers need to stick together, after all.  
  
Mama cackles as she shoos him out. He can see why Dennis liked her.  
  
He calls Sherrie and Drew every week, sees them when he can. He looks after Katie's kids, offers her a job, but she likes being available for her kids.

He works hard. The Bourbon is cleaner, the staff is disciplined and the customers get into less trouble, somehow.  
  
Whenever the apartment stops smelling like Dennis, he’ll smoke up and spray cologne on the pillows and couch.  
  
Mama tells him he’s grieving, when he goes round for gossip and a cocktail. He's grieving like a widow.  
  
The thing is they weren’t, like, they didn’t – they were friends. More than friends, right, but not quite, not like that.  
  
Ok, so they kind of were, but not all the time, and not like anything weird. It was just the way they were, you know?  
  
Mama doesn’t make him explain, doesn’t judge, doesn’t even change her expression. She just hands him another drink, pulls out a poster and tells him about Maxine Diamond and Edgar Calhoun. Tells him to cherish his sweetest memories, because being loved like that only comes round once in a lifetime.  
  
Life moves on quicker than it has any right to.  
  
LA changes seasons, tax systems, mayors.  
  
Lonny hates the graveyard, thinks it’s creepy and unnecessarily quiet unless it’s got a film crew in it, but he goes every couple of weeks anyway.  
  
He stands, hands in his pockets, stares at the headstone until he can hear Dennis’ voice in his head calling him stupid, telling him to go back inside and make sure the staff hasn’t burned down his club.  
  
He’s ok. He’s not better, but he’ll get there.  
  
When Drew calls to tell him Sherrie’s pregnant again and that they want to call the kid Dennis if it’s a boy, Lonny throws a party at the Bourbon. He even makes sure there are drinks that Sherrie can have, because alcohol is bad for pregnant women. He thinks.  
  
It’s probably right.  
  
He even makes people smoke outside.  
  
Sherrie smiles at that, then smiles some more when he gives her a tiny black baby beanie with skulls on it.  
  
“From the kid’s uncles.”  
  
Drew claps him on the back and ruffles his hair, messing up the ‘do.  
  
For that, Lonny refuses to serve him alcohol for the rest of the night.  
  
He does send him a bottle of whiskey when the kid is born though, gets a picture of a tiny baby girl wrapped in pink blankets and wearing the tiny beanie in return.  
  
He frames the photo, sticks it on the wall opposite his desk, Dennis’ desk, next to a picture from the reopening of the Bourbon with Dennis wearing nothing but a poncho and a hat stolen from Stacee Jaxx, and takes a deep, deep breath.  
  
He can almost see Dennis out of the corner of his eye, half approving, half indulgent, tapping his wrist because time is money and also rock waits for no man, woman or sound god.  
  
“Show time,” says Lonny, blowing a kiss to Dennis’ picture on the stairway and psyching himself up for another night of rock stars and drunk crowds.  
  
He nods at the staff as he rocks up behind the bar, waitress number one already holding a hand out for her high-five.

“Alright, party people. Let’s get ready to make some money and melt some faces, we open in ten!”


End file.
